


Antithesis of Letting Go

by GalaxyAqua



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, College, Gen, I thought too much about Warlock Dowling, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 02:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20613389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyAqua/pseuds/GalaxyAqua
Summary: “Nice day, Warlock.” Adam said, catching up with him with a light jog, slowing once they were matching pace. His hand waved, perfectly relaxed and he paid little heed to the roll of Warlock’s eyes as he continued, “World didn’t end on Tuesday so we’re safe for now, at least. P’raps you were right, it had to wait for you to finish your paper first. You’ve kept us all in suspense.”Warlock stuck his tongue out at him and kept walking.





	Antithesis of Letting Go

**Author's Note:**

> hello! hope you're doing good and spicy today, stay snazzy, stay classy

Warlock wanted to reinvent himself.

It was just the sort of day for it, he supposed.

He had been standing aimlessly on the pavement outside his dorm, avoiding every single one of his responsibilities when he thought about reinvention. Who he was, who he had been and who he could be. There were countless possibilities and he wanted to grasp them.

His life, as it was, was just too bloody _normal_.

It felt wrong, almost. Like he was missing something. Like he needed to take a new perspective and find new directions to drag himself out of whatever pits of apathy he had managed to fall into. Heavy with stagnancy, he felt the clambering urge to remake himself somehow.

So there he stood, shielding his eyes from the brightness as he decided how exactly he was going to go about it.

Now, it wasn’t the first time he had wanted a change, of course. These whims seemed to always crop up anytime he had a deadline to meet. The temptation of procrastination, he guessed, was one he indulged in far too plentifully.

Still, he was going to finish his work later today, and that was all he had to say about it.

But not yet.

He was getting restless with his indifference and wanted something to change. He did not know what, but he wanted it. The more he thought about it, the more boring his lifestyle seemed, where he was only really finding comfort in games and comics and collecting stamps and being better than everyone at everything.

Oh, and not to mention, standing out on the porch to think.

Ugh. It was so painfully sunny out here.

He scowled up at the sun glare as if it had very personally chosen to shine harsher on him specifically, and decided he would go for some new sunglasses.

* * *

Their local mall was fairly big as far as malls went, what with the long strip of stores and pop-up shops advertising all their little knick-knacks. That was a bonus Warlock didn’t take much advantage of – except to snatch up something sweet every now and then with a childish glee – but the air conditioning was a very welcome relief from the sweltering heat outside which made the trip quite a good decision overall.

His father had always insisted he be chauffeured from place to place, but Warlock liked his bike and his father certainly wasn’t here to tell him off for using it. It was nowhere near his biggest rebellion, but he found mild satisfaction in it all the same.

Unsurprisingly, the mall was packed full of students wanting to make the most of the free air conditioning, and so it put a little damper on his mood but not enough to make him want to stand in the sun again so he continued on his way, slotting his earbuds in so that nobody would bother him.

This was his own time so he had no interest in interacting with anyone that recognized him, uncaring for the shy smiles and friendly waves. It was nice, but perhaps better saved for another day.

So, instead, he pushed ahead with his hands in his pockets, nose upturned, trudging through the aisles with the attitude of someone wishing to be left alone. It was a little holier-than-thou, he would admit, but he didn’t want to waste his time being chatted up by people who only wanted to get to know him because they knew he had money.

At the rate it seemed to happen, he must have looked like he was made of it or something.

Round, gleaming black spectacles on a wire rack suddenly caught his eye and he stopped by the display to look at them. There were countless pairs of glasses all lined up in neat rows, but Warlock wasn’t interested in those; it was only the one.

His memory of his childhood nanny was hardly worth anything _now_ but he couldn’t help but feel drawn to the round glasses, the dark panes of the lenses reminding him far too abruptly of a time long lost.

Of a woman who cared for him in a way his mother never did — _didn’t know how to_, he corrected himself quickly — and who walked out of his life without a second thought. Vanishing, like smoke.

Nanny Ashtoreth, who held him as a baby and sang him lullabies before she tucked him in at night.

Nanny, who was always there to answer his questions and taught him a great many things growing up, always brimming with pride when he told her all about the things he had learned.

When he repeated her words. When he didn’t do the right thing. When he was being difficult. She never punished him, only smiled, the briefest tug at the corner of her lips before the sternness overtook her again.

Nanny, who always waited for him. Nanny, who always wore those dark glasses. Nanny, who was in constant feud with the gardener, and whom she had dressed up with when Warlock didn’t need a nanny anymore.

She came back as a tutor, then a waiter, but she was always Nanny.

Nanny, who had left without saying goodbye.

Warlock wasn’t contemptuous. Not really.

He had long since come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t worth staying for.

His mother had always done her best to fill in the gap left behind by his constantly absent father and the departure of his devoted caretakers from childhood, and he loved her dearly for it, but she stumbled over herself trying.

She would have been the perfect mother for a different child, Warlock suspected, so maybe it was his fault for being so difficult to raise after Nanny taught him to raise hell whenever he wasn’t satisfied. He wasn’t sure.

There was nobody he could blame for his turbulent childhood because he was just that — a child — he was an impressionable, curious child surrounded by adults who wanted him to be all sorts of different things for their own self-interest. Nobody he could blame for him having been born with the weight of the Dowling name on his shoulders, his formative years lost to having to live up to the expectations bestowed upon him because of it.

All the bitterness he had once directed towards the adults that had dragged him around had faded into a passive dullness. He was fine with whatever. It didn’t matter, anyway.

He put the glasses on.

Glancing in the mirror furtively, he was surprised to find that he liked the way they kept his eyes obscured. The way he could look at himself and not have the slightest idea what he might be thinking.

He knew better, but it was nice to pretend.

Lips twisting into a sullen frown, he plucked the sunglasses from his face and proceeded to head off to toss them onto the counter to pay.

* * *

“The end is nigh,” boomed the radio as it blared tinnily through his earphones.

He hadn’t spent much longer at the mall after his purchase. There was a shopkeeper who was very insistent on talking to him so he had hightailed it out of there, moodily pointing to both his earphones and his sunglasses, to which the shopkeeper politely smiled and _kept _prattling.

For better or for worse, he still had to pick up that assignment he had been avoiding, so that was his getaway excuse and that was also how he found himself at the library. Studying. Finally.

If by studying, it meant: hoping that if he stared at the right books long enough, he would be able to absorb all the information with little effort. So far this method wasn’t working.

“The fundamental errors of mankind have made it so, writing the end into existence,” the radio continued in a rather unconcerned manner. “Future generations will come to see it as inevitable, the way we destroyed ourselves. If your beliefs will truly set you free, then there’s nothing to be afraid of. There is great courage in facing the end of the world still believing in something.”

He hadn’t been in the mood for music, but the longer the radio host blathered on about the world ending, the more desperately he wished for some sort of saving grace from the utter inanity of it all.

For heaven’s sake, he didn’t _care _if the world was ending, he had a paper due tomorrow and he’d be damned if he didn’t finish it.

Warlock pushed his sunglasses further up his nose and squinted at the textbook, trying to make out the words with the dark tint over them.

He wondered, briefly, how Nanny used to do it.

She wore sunglasses even at night, even indoors, and seemed to be able to read him stories just fine. She could do anything with those glasses. Nothing seemed to faze her. Nothing seemed to ever push through her façade.

_Stop thinking about her, _he told himself.

But he found that where his thoughts on Nanny Ashtoreth ended, his thoughts on the gardener Brother Francis began.

The two were simply so inexplicably entwined. It had always been one or the other when he knew them, always _listen to me_, don’t listen to that _woman_, don’t listen to that _man_, all back and forth like his very own parents had been; only the Dowlings had been full of hushed arguments that had never anything to do with Warlock.

Some days, he felt like they didn’t even know he was there.

(The security guards would, but that was because they were paid to. Everyone Warlock had ever known had only been paid to care about him. Even Nanny. Even Brother Francis.)

When it came to Nanny and Mr. Francis, Warlock had at least always felt like he was the centre of their universe.

As a child, that was all he wanted, really. To be important, loved, or whatever.

Nanny had always spoken as though she believed the world would bend and kneel to Warlock’s command, after all, and Mr. Francis had gone on and on about how if the world truly belonged to him then he must treat every living being with love and respect.

But, he supposed, they must have been lying, considering he didn’t feel all that important anymore.

He shook his head free of them.

Nostalgia, he was coming to find, was a terrible sort of beast.

All that aside, he had an assignment to finish, and it wasn’t going to finish itself. For all of Nanny’s eccentricities, she had always been very strict about his learning and Brother Francis had always said that the right amount of knowledge would save him from anything, and he promised himself he would stop thinking about them already, but every time his thoughts drifted, it was like a dam bursting open.

Warlock wasn’t stupid. He knew that he grew under their guidance. He knew that he had clung fast to his mother after they left, and she had wondered where all this affection came from and he couldn’t tell her that without Nanny and Mr. Francis, he didn’t know where to put it anymore.

All of a sudden, he felt one of his earbuds being plucked out, and his head shot up to snap at the culprit.

Quickly identified to be some guy with a mischievous grin and wildly tousled hair, Warlock found himself staring at him, almost in wonderment, before he remembered himself and narrowed his eyes behind his glasses.

“Hey,” he said, completely unfazed by the way Warlock glared up at him. “Why are you wearing sunglasses in a library?”

“Because I can,” Warlock replied testily, flicking the hand away and reaching to retrieve his earbud but the other wouldn’t relent. “Give that back.”

“What’s your name?” He asked instead, still smiling brightly and slotting the stolen earpiece into his ear. “Mine’s Adam. Adam Young.”

“You better not have earwax, Adam Young,” Warlock said.

Adam seemed to take this as a go ahead, and swung his bag into the table. Ordinarily, Warlock would have protested, but somehow, he couldn’t find the words to.

There was just something about Adam that was hard to fight. Perhaps it was because he seemed so rightfully entitled, as though the world itself was shaped by his will. Or, perhaps it was his odd charisma; one that didn’t allow for much of an argument when even the thought came with the creeping dread that it was a lost cause.

He sighed as he turned back to his book, deciding he was not at all caring for the way the other boy slid into the seat beside him.

“I’m Warlock, if it matters that much to you.”

“Wait, _Warlock_?” Adam asked, sounding for a second like he wasn’t quite sure what he was hearing. “What kinda name is _that_?”

Warlock pursed his lips irritably, about to launch into a tirade about how it’s not like he went and named himself, and how his mother had actually named him so to get back at his father, and how it’s not like this whole name thing was new to him either seeing as everybody always had something to say about it.

If Adam thought he was being clever, he ought to know that any joke that would leave his smug mouth will have already been heard many times before.

“That’s wicked!” Adam continued, steamrolling straight over any sarcastic quips Warlock had been rearing to make. “Dude, that’s a really cool name. Warlock. That’s like, epic. Magical, even. Say, you’re not a witch or anythin’, are you?”

Warlock shrugged and looked at him oddly.

“It’s not as cool when you’re stuck with it.” He said, referring to his name. He went on, “And no, why in the hell would I be a witch? If you’re going to try and mess with me, you can go away.”

“I’m not trying to mess with you.”

“Well, you can still go away.”

Instead of doing as he was told, Adam’s arm swung ever-so-casually over the back of the chair as he twisted to face him, head tilted curiously to the side.

“What’re we listenin’ to, anyway? Doesn’t sound like music.”

They both paused to listen.

The radio host was in the middle of asking, “So, will you face judgement for all your misgivings? Understand that the world is not ending because we have been bad people and it will not cease to end if we become better people. The end is nigh.”

“Radio, I guess,” Warlock muttered.

“I like radios,” Adam commented rather cheerfully. “What’s he goin’ on about? Surely it can’t be as interesting as the aliens. Not much is more interesting than aliens. Except maybe cowboys and spaceships. Nothing really beats cowboys and spaceships.”

“Uh huh.”

“Come on, new friend,” Adam pressed, nudging him with his shoulder. “Catch me up. I wanna know what’s happening. If we’re going to listen together, I want a little context, at least.”

Warlock sighed again, exasperated. So they were friends already. He certainly didn’t get a say in it. The brimming confidence was starting to give him a headache.

“You came during some garbage talk show about the apocalypse or something. I’m not really listening. The world wants to end, but I want to finish my paper, so it’ll have to wait.”

Something shifted in Adam’s gaze, and had Warlock been paying attention, then maybe he would have noticed, but alas he wasn’t and so he didn’t.

“The end is nigh,” Adam eventually repeated after the talk show host. He sounded rather gallant.

“Or something.” Warlock said.

He adjusted his sunglasses and went back to squinting at his book. Adam continued to listen to the talk show quietly after that, tapping his finger on the desk and adamantly doing anything but studying. Despite it being a library, nobody seemed to pay Adam’s humming any heed.

Warlock tried to focus on his work, already accustomed to ignoring any and all oddities that surrounded his daily life, but for some reason, the radio’s incessant drawl started to slowly creep into his head, and the longer he stared at his book, the less the words made sense.

Annoyed, he moved to pull his phone from his pocket to turn off the distraction, but Adam stopped him, hand wrapping loose around his wrist. Warlock tried to tap the pause button with his thumb, but the audio feed refused to stop.

_Stupid old phone_, he thought.

“No, listen,” Adam grinned. “Isn’t this funny? It’s just a Tuesday afternoon and this guy’s going on about signs of world destruction. Heaps of bad omens. The end is nigh. It’s like they really think it’s the end of the world. On a Tuesday afternoon! Can you believe it?”

“For some people,” Warlock said, yanking out of his grasp and sliding the volume of the radio down to mute. As an afterthought, he tugged the earpiece out of Adam’s ear and stood up, collecting his belongings and making to leave. “It might be a perfectly good day for the world to end. See you ‘round, Adam.”

* * *

As it turned out, he did in fact, see Adam around.

Few days later, in a coffee shop where they exchanged a quick passing smile – rather, Adam smiled and Warlock smiled back before walking off – and then another few days later, when he was making his way back to the dorms.

“Nice day, Warlock.” Adam said, catching up with him with a light jog, slowing once they were matching pace. His hand waved, perfectly relaxed and he paid little heed to the roll of Warlock’s eyes as he continued, “World didn’t end on Tuesday so we’re safe for now, at least. P’raps you were right, it had to wait for you to finish your paper first. You’ve kept us all in suspense.”

Warlock stuck his tongue out at him and kept walking.

“I reckon that’s what it was,” Adam insisted, undeterred. He had that air about him, one that was unflinching, one that bowed to nothing. “Else the world would’ve ended already. How’d that paper go, anyhow? Considering it’s what laid between us and total world destruction, I’d very much like to know. In fact, everyone needs to know.”

“You’re full of rubbish.” Warlock said, not entirely sure why he felt so compelled to respond.

He had preferred to ignore Adam, but it seemed like Adam wasn’t going to be ignored. He hated how that worked out sometimes. He swiped the key pass into his dorm, and didn’t wait for Adam to follow. Adam was coming whether he wanted him there or not.

“So, the paper,” Adam pressed, striding into Warlock’s room like he was the one that lived there. It was a right mess, but Warlock wasn’t trying to impress anyone and only half-heartedly threatened Adam not to steal anything before he tossed his belongings onto the bed and Adam took to slouching into his armchair. “How did this legendary paper go?”

“You say that like it was actually that important.” Warlock scoffed, crossing his arms and feeling altogether a little out of place even though it was his own room. “The paper was fine. I’ve handed it in, so now I’m pretending it doesn’t exist.”

“Pretending things don’t exist is a great way to do things,” Adam agreed. “Say, what do you study anyway? Figure if it’s worth postponing The End, it must be somethin’ real special.”

He shot Adam a tired look. After a beat, he found himself droning just about as excitedly as his mother did at parties when asked to speak of her son.

“Environmental studies.”

“Oh, that’d do it. There’s a whole sort of ‘save the world’ thing goin’ on there.” Adam snapped his fingers triumphantly. “Why that, though?”

“My father’s a diplomat and thinks it’d be good for future connections,” Warlock shrugged, and decidedly didn’t mention the fact that he wasn’t even doing this for his father, but for the ghost of a gardener who implored him to love the way life bloomed. He didn’t love it all that much, but it was a comforting thought.

Plants, at least, when properly taken care of, didn’t leave him.

“Lots’a job prospects.” He continued. “You know. Everyone loves people who care about the environment.”

“Job prospects. That’s just a lie made up by the government. They get you to save the environment so they don’t have to. That’s what they want.” Adam wrinkled his nose. “I quite like the environment, but I don’t like the government.”

“They stink. I wish we were governed by mice in suits instead,” He nodded. “Well, my father doesn’t stink that much, but he was never really around enough for me to know if he did.”

This seemed to quiet Adam for a moment.

“You here ‘cause of your dad then?”

“I guess.” Warlock didn’t know what to say to that. “I mean, partly. He wants me to be successful, and make him look good. My mother does, too. She likes hearing about the awards I win when I can be bothered goin’ out and winning them. I’m pretty good at that.”

“Why can’t you just do what you want to do?”

Warlock shrugged again, noncommittal.

“Maybe this is what I want to do.”

“No, no,” Adam said with surety. He brightened suddenly as if he had all the answers beamed down on him. “I bet you like games more. Games are way better than jobs. I saw your consoles on the way in. You play games. Let me join you. I’m mighty good at games.”

Without a rebuttal and intrigued by the observation, Warlock offered a slight smile. “Oh, yeah?”

“Oh, yes, I’m so extremely good,” he replied, rather lacking in modesty. “You have any racing games? You’re gonna get it, Dowling. You don’t know how good I am.”

“Please,” Warlock laughed. “Like you could beat me at anything.”

“I will.” Adam said. “You’ll see.”

“You willing to bet on it?”

“Righteously,” he declared, chest puffing out valiantly. “I told you. I’m very good.”

“Yeah, right. I reckon you’re all talk.”

Tossing over a cheeky smile, Adam winked. “Anything I want, I can make happen, you know.”

“You’re going down, Young,” Warlock said, springing to his feet and grabbing the spare controller he kept for when company came knocking. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

* * *

True to his word, Adam won first. He bragged about it, incessantly, lauding himself as really just the greatest at every game ever made until Warlock demanded they rematch.

Surprised at his own words but wanting to show up Adam in any way possible, they played again.

And again.

And again.

* * *

If Warlock had to liken Adam to anything, it would be to a dog.

An easily excitable, incredibly loyal and enthusiastic sort of dog – and one, just like all the dogs Warlock had ever known, refused to leave him alone.

Warlock just wasn’t a dog person, and as a child he’d had some major weirdo with terrible teeth accuse him very stupidly for having a dog he’d never had, which didn’t help the fact. Nanny had a dog too, little Rover who nipped at anyone that seemed threatening, and young Warlock had been terrified of the creature, even though it hadn’t done so much as sniff curiously around him.

So no, he wasn’t a dog person, and Adam was really quite like a dog as a person, and that should have meant that this didn’t work but it did. Somehow.

“Knock knock, guess who,” Adam greeted, having come to make such regular appearances at Warlock’s door that he might as well have lived outside it at this point.

Warlock sighed, letting him in.

Adam ran a hand through his unruly curls, taking the time to peruse the room as though he wasn’t here nearly as much as its owner was. In his hands were rolled up magazines, and if one peered a little more closely, they would find that they were centred on the topics of paranormality, the occult and the supernatural. Nobody looked, of course.

In fact, the only person doing any looking of any sort was Adam, who upon finishing his scan of the room, focused the intensity of his gaze entirely on Warlock.

“Your hair’s tied up,” he pointed out rather obviously.

“Well, I can’t have it in my face all the time,” Warlock replied, huffing at the long strands that had escaped his half-hearted ponytail in an attempt to blow them aside without having to put effort into moving them. “And if you want to talk about how messy I look, you can get outta here. Your hair’s an absolute bird’s nest.”

Adam didn’t seem to take offense to that.

Sometimes, he was infuriating laid-back, like nothing could really touch him.

“You should see how it gets in the morning. It’s ‘specially messy then. I think I like it that way, though. I like your hair this way, too.”

Warlock regarded him with a long look. “Didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“You got it anyway,” Adam answered rather smartly. “And you should feel honoured.”

“Put a sock in it,” said Warlock, rolling his eyes. “Could your head get any bigger?”

“Why, Mr. Dowling, you sound just like my mother.”

He groaned. “Spare me. And don’t call me that.”

“Should I call you Mr. Warlock instead?”

“Don’t call me mister anything.”

“Ah, well, you don’t have to worry your pretty lil head ‘bout _that_,” Adam tapped his magazines against his leg, pronouncing, “Mr. Anything is actually _my_ name. It’s shortened, you know, my full name is actually Adam Anything-You-Can-Do-I-Can-Do-Better. You can just call me Mr. Anything, though.”

“You are so full of shit,” Warlock laughed, grabbing a cushion off his bed and launching it his way.

Adam caught it in his free hand. “I am full of truths and you just can’t handle it.”

“I swear to God, Adam.”

“And I swear to my dad in Lower Tadfield,” Adam replied. Then, after a moment of thinking about it, added, “My dog, too.”

“You have a dog?”

“Yeah, his name’s Dog. Proper mongrel, he is, but a very clever little bugger. Good dog. He’s coming to stay with me soon, so you’ll get to meet ‘im if you want.” Adam said brightly. He lobbed the cushion back at Warlock, who caught it clumsily. “I can’t wait. I love my dog.”

“You can’t have dogs in the dorms,” Warlock told him, not quite sure about the logistics of what Adam was talking about. Only that it made almost perfect sense that Adam had a dog, and he didn’t. If that smelly man at the ruins had yelled at Adam, that might have been a very different story, he mused.

Adam only waved a dismissive hand. Rules didn’t ever seem to apply to him, anyway, and if they did, he clearly didn’t care for them.

“I’ve got it sorted out. You’ll see.”

It was then that Adam seemed to remember that he was carrying something, and set the magazines down onto the chair. Before Warlock could ask, he sat on top of them.

Smiling inquisitively, Adam asked, “So what were you doin’ before I got ‘ere? Being miserable without me, I expect.”

“Close enough,” he replied. “I was working on a paper.”

“Another one? You work too hard.”

“I have to,” Warlock glanced at his notes, and the post-its that were scattered all over his bed. Sustainability. Prosperity. He didn’t know what he was doing it all for, but the sense of duty was ingrained within him. Perhaps the world itself needed reinvention.

“Well,” began Adam, crossing his legs, sneaker laces dangling. “S’all good if that’s what you want, but having to do things is also a lie made up by the government, you know.”

“Maybe.”

“It is.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

Adam seemed mollified by that. “Can you turn on the radio? And then you can go back to writing. I’ve got stuff to stay occupied.”

Reaching for his phone, Warlock wordlessly flicked it on, unplugging his earphones so they could both listen to it without having to be pressed together to do so.

Part of him wanted Adam to drag him away from his work, but he didn’t.

Another part of him wanted Adam to explain why he was here, but he didn’t.

“The end is nigh, and you’ll be here to see it,” said the radio, crackling to life.

“Oh, shut up,” Warlock pushed his hair from his face in frustration, using quick fingers to stop his glasses from falling off. “Do they ever talk about anything other than the world ending?”

“Well, it was delayed, they can’t help it,” Adam reasoned, shaking his magazines out and cracking one open to read. “Maybe if you stopped writing so many papers, the world would actually get a chance _to _end.”

“Like it’s my fault I have to write papers.”

“You don’t _really_ have to. I mean it. I don’t,” Adam told him, snatching an apple from the desk and spinning it on one finger without sparing it a glance. Warlock blinked at him, slightly impressed. “Could always just let the world end. Can’t be that bad, you know. You won’t have to write papers if the world’s over.”

* * *

Days were never mundane with Adam around.

That was an interesting thing. Without much effort, his life seemed to reshape to fit Adam in, and Warlock was rather helpless to it. Adam did what he wanted. Warlock was used to that mentality, but he had never seen anyone wear it as well as Adam Young.

Everyone seemed to know it, too.

Adam was popular when they were out, charisma unshakeable, so much so that he seemed vaguely bothered by it sometimes. When asked, he said that he liked being well-known, of course, but he had always been used to it from a distance.

Back in England, Adam and his friends were of notoriety in their town, but they weren’t exactly popular in their neck of the woods. Warlock wondered if he preferred it that way.

* * *

Warlock still wasn’t a dog person, but he appreciated Adam.

He couldn’t quite put it to words – couldn’t quite put _him _to words, in all honesty – but he felt oddly at peace with Adam, as though he were the extraordinary object transforming his ordinary life into something quite a bit more exciting.

In a sense, Adam felt like the reinvention he had wanted, and like coming home to a feeling Warlock had forgotten for a long time.

No, Warlock still wasn’t a dog person, but when the day came that Adam’s dog was due to arrive on campus, Warlock hadn’t given much thought to Adam’s request that he follow to see him.

Adam had been all sorts of energetic as Warlock skulked behind him, wondering just where all that enthusiasm came from. It was just a–

“Dog!” Adam exclaimed abruptly, bounding towards the two men at the campus gate with his arms outstretched.

For a moment, Warlock thought he’d at least offer the delivery men a hug while he was at it, but Adam’s eyes were fixed on the pet carrier as he practically yanked it out of the taller man’s hold.

“Watch it,” the man hissed, and his companion offered him a soothing pat on the back. For a moment, Warlock could only focus on how well manicured his hand was, landing solid on his companion’s shoulder.

Adam seemed too preoccupied with his joyful reunion with his dog to pay them any heed.

Dog yapped happily, tail wagging as Adam scratched his ears and cooed at him, and Warlock, still not being a dog person, could admit that it was a rather sweet sight. Adam’s happiness was never insincere but usually more subdued. With his dog, he laughed openly, giggling like an oversized child, and even the air around them felt vibrant.

Still, he had no real business being there, so as Adam played with his dog, he simply stood awkwardly behind him, kicking dirt.

The delivery men stayed bleary in his peripheral, whispering to each other under their breaths, and after a beat, the man that had handed over the dog — or, Adam he snatched the dog from — cleared his throat.

“Oi, you, Antichrist,” he said gruffly, gesturing to Adam. “We’d best be going now. Consider the debt paid, or whatever. We’re not your friendly pet delivery service, so maybe think about that before you get us to come all the way to _America _for things like this, eh?”

Adam smiled. Evidently at ease with them, like he had known them for years, he offered a wink and brought a finger to his mouth as though he was imparting a secret.

“You guys wanted to come anyway. I think I just did you another favour, didn’t I?”

“You’re not wiggling your way into getting more things from us, Adam,” he replied, voice stern and reprimanding.

His counterpart waved him off dismissively, “You know we’re always happy to assist. Crowley’s just a mite annoyed because nobody’s looking after his plants while we’re away.”

“I’m _not_ annoyed,” Crowley snapped in an annoyed tone.

“Yes you are. But in any case,” he continued over Crowley’s incoherent muttering, “It is so nice to see you, young man, you do look very well. However, we really must be going. Sights to see, places to be. You know. Ah, how America has changed.”

“Now wait just a minute,” said Adam, letting Dog take hostage of his hand, nosing it and licking it affectionately. “You haven’t met Warlock yet.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Warlock said, suddenly coming back into attention at the mention of his name.

He must have zoned out. Or something.

It was a peculiar sensation, as though his head had been submerged in water and nothing around him seemed quite real. He blinked blearily behind his sunglasses, trying to bring himself back into full awareness. _Something _was holding him back, but he didn’t know what.

Crowley nodded stiffly, “Yeah, see, you heard the boy. It’s fine. We’re taking our leave now.”

“Yes! We’re very busy, you see. Until next time, Adam. Toodleloo,” his companion waved cheerily, grabbing Crowley by the arm and steering him away.

“Hold it,” Adam said with a little more severity.

They exchanged a glance and then slowly turned back around.

Warlock felt terribly awkward, but there was no stopping Adam once he got going.

“Aziraphale, Crowley, this is Warlock. Warlock, this is,” he gestured to the two, whose good humor seemed to seep out of their expressions completely unbeknownst to the grinning boy.

“Aziraphale,” Adam introduced. The man with the manicured hands clutched at his waistcoat and waved hesitantly, looking suddenly at a loss for words.

“Crowley,” Adam swept his arm over to Aziraphale’s companion, and his jaw seemed to tighten the longer he stared at Warlock from behind his sunglasses.

It wasn’t hostile, not quite, but as the two men continued to stare at him, Warlock was beginning to feel very, very small. That was without mentioning the fact that his head still felt oddly heavy.

He shuffled his feet in place. Nobody else was moving. Adam’s smile slowly waned.

“Warlock?” Crowley whispered, eventually breaking the silence with a tentative utterance, “Warlock… Dowling?”

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale pronounced, and his palm found its way to Crowley’s bony shoulder again. “Oh, Crowley. No. Don’t say that. This must all be just a great coincidence. It’s not– that’s not–”

Crowley slapped his hand over Aziraphale’s and hissed, “We both know very well this isn’t just a coincidence, angel. I can tell you that much.”

“But Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted. “Warlock? Not…” his voice dipped low, “... _our _Warlock?”

“Yes,” Crowley said, and didn’t elaborate further.

Adam was perplexed.

He looked between the two, to Dog, to Warlock.

“What? What’s going on?” He asked.

Warlock slowly reached for his own glasses and slid them off his face.

The world ended.

* * *

Rather, his world ended.

It was only for a second, really, and nothing actually ended, it only felt like it did.

Crowley and Aziraphale looked just as they had behind the tint of his shades, but clearer now, Warlock could feel the pressure in his head release and he knew — he _knew _he recognized them.

He always had.

Their disguises had never been particularly good, and Warlock used to fashion that adults wore so many faces that it hardly mattered but here, standing right in front of him, looking like they hadn’t aged a single day, were the people who had raised him when his parents lacked the time.

He couldn’t remember Ashtoreth or Francis’ voices anymore but he could remember the way they looked. How distinct features always stayed. Nanny’s glasses and dark clothing, Francis all apple-cheeked and in white, persistently.

Crowley and Aziraphale.

“Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis.”

It all came back rather abruptly.

“Oh,” Warlock said, and promptly blacked out.

* * *

“You overreacted.”

“I did _not _overreact, you were the one who was overreacting.”

“I was having a moment, and I was dealing with it. You overreacted. See? You killed him.”

“Crowley, I did not kill him! How dare you! The very thought!”

“Well, he’s all limp on the ground now, so I don’t think he’s farin’ that much better. That can’t be comfortable.”

“It was not my fault and you know it. Something must have gone terribly wrong, that’s all.”

“Yeah? I’ll say.”

“So you two know him?” The unmistakable tone of Adam’s voice rang out. “How?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Longer than the Antichrist one?”

Crowley, as Warlock blearily identified now being the one with a rather distinctively sharp voice, made a strangled noise. “It’s er, you know. Sort of the same story, that one. You know. Real fun.”

“Yes, a real treat of a story,” Aziraphale mentioned. “You already know all the important parts, though.”

“Is there more than one Antichrist?” Adam asked.

“No, no,” He answered hurriedly. “Only one Antichrist. I can assure you there was only one.”

“Then, what is it?” Adam insisted, sounding quite curious. “Why’d he faint, anyhow?”

“Mmgh, dunno,” Crowley offered. “Stress? People do that sometimes. That’s a thing, right?”

“I don’t believe it was stress,” Aziraphale lamented, and he seemed morose. “Is it the dog? Oh, young Warlock was always afraid of dogs.”

“Yeah,” Adam said hesitantly. “He told me about that. I don’t reckon it was, though. Dog’s as friendly as anything when I say so, and he didn’t even touch ‘im yet.”

“Of course it wasn’t the bloody dog,” Crowley seemed a touch more annoyed than before. “Am I the only one that sees the whole hulking elephant in the room here? It’s because he saw _us_.”

“And?” Adam asked. “Seeing you doesn’t cause people problems. I’d know. You were invited to Anathema’s for Christmas and everything went jolly fine.”

“Ah. Yeah. Right. It’s not that, and don’t mention that ever again. You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand?”

“We,” Aziraphale started, rather matter-of-factly, “were hired to look after young master Warlock as he was growing up. T’was a busy estate, mind you, and the Dowlings were so very occupied with their commitments. We simply had to step in to help.”

“Uh,” Adam said, rightfully confused. “_You two_?”

“Yes, alright, laugh it up,” Crowley muttered.

“I’m not laughing. I’m just… I don’t get it. Did you need a job or somethin’?”

“Let’s not get into specifics, we don’t have all day.”

“Indeed, there are more pressing matters at hand,” Aziraphale said, “Warlock being on the ground, for example. If Crowley is right—”

“I am.” Crowley interrupted, only to be hushed by Aziraphale.

“Then perhaps it is true that the sight of us was the cause. But I— I don’t think he remembers us. He was six years old. Then we changed roles, to better suit his needs.”

“Eleven years total.”

“_Yes_, Crowley, and it has almost been eleven years since. Much has happened, and I doubt we remained… that is to say, I always did wonder if he had forgotten about us, but that is not our place to…” He trailed off.

“We have no say in how he lives his life,” Crowley finished for him. “We were interfering. He’d be better off forgetting, really.”

“Nanny. Brother Francis,” Warlock said suddenly, clambering to his feet. He couldn’t look either of them in the eye.

“I couldn’t forget you even if I tried. And I did try. I did,” his voice cracked against his will. He felt so pathetically small. “I tried to forget. Just like you forgot about me.”

Nanny and Brother Francis — Crowley and Aziraphale — both reached out for him at once.

Ashamed, Warlock pulled his hair over his eyes and cowered away. His bottom lip stuck out petulantly. He bit down on it to try and quell the shaking. He didn’t want to face them.

Not like this.

Not when he was old enough to know they had only loved him because it was their job to, and they had still done a better job than his parents did. Not when he knew he used to cry that his mother never tucked him in like Nanny did and his father had never taught him to be peaceful and kind like the gardener Brother Francis did.

His parents had their dreams for him but they never sat down with him long enough for him to understand why he had to listen.

“Warlock,” Crowley said carefully. “We didn’t forget about you.”

“Everyone does,” Warlock replied. “You just stop having time for me, and then you forget. It’s fine. I get it. Everyone forgets.”

Not like this.

* * *

When Warlock Dowling was eleven years old and his birthday party had been a disaster and his trip to the ruins in the Middle East had been a disaster and everything had basically been a disaster, he had felt an inkling that things were going to change in his life and not for the better.

Bringing his knees up to his chest, he stared blankly out the window of the plane until his mother told him to take his feet down from the seat.

Mouth curling, he had simply ignored her and turned up the volume for the movie he wasn’t really watching.

He couldn’t help the attitude. He was frustrated.

Resentful about the fact that his streak of bad days was growing, when all he wanted was for things to go his way. Not understanding why they needed this sort of publicity when it wasn’t as if it actually helped anyone.

Most of all, finding this entire trip stupid and a waste of time. Perhaps, it was especially this, seeing as he had hoped his father would at least take them sightseeing elsewhere so they could celebrate his birthday together but the man was so busy that after taking some lousy photos, they were already headed back to England.

Warlock had been grumpy, even as his mother patted his arm, promising she’d order him hot cocoa if he behaved.

He tried to, if only because he couldn’t handle her looking at him so sadly all the time. Couldn’t handle feeling like a failure, after she had been so upset about the way he treated the tour guides, but it wasn’t his fault that they were dumb and he hated them.

“Hate is such a strong word, sweetie,” Harriet Dowling told him, gently brushing the hair from his face. “Now, we don’t hate people we’ve just met, Warlock. You haven’t even given them a chance yet.”

He had only pouted, crossing his arms childishly.

“I know people I hate when I see them.”

“Honey,” his mother said. Admonishing. “Don’t be like that.”

Landing home, he didn’t feel like he had been in the wrong but kept those thoughts to himself. After all, he didn’t even know why his father had taken him to see some funky old ruins in the first place. In the end, he supposed he was at least looking forward to making the most out of the presents he had gotten — the only real part of this whole week he could hold onto.

The news had gone haywire, globally, and Warlock hadn’t cared much for it. He had seen cooler things in movies.

After arriving at the estate, his mother had gone straight into instructing the maids where to put their belongings away and his father had gotten in a car to be driven wherever. That was when Warlock found himself sitting alone in his room, surrounded by shiny new toys.

Somehow, he wasn’t all that excited about playing with them anymore. Not by himself.

He started building a little city with trains and bikes and cars to bide the time, giving it alien citizens and an elaborate backstory, but after a while of that, he found himself growing bored. He knocked it all over and sighed.

He switched on some cartoons, watching mindlessly as he wondered when his mother would be free to join in. Of course, the kids at school didn’t think it was very cool to hang out with their parents— or any adults for that matter, unless they had ray guns or space suits or something — but Warlock didn’t care.

Nanny and Brother Francis might have been to blame, seeing as he had spent his entire life with them. Grown up under Nanny’s watchful eye and ran around Francis’ beautiful garden that was never quite the same after they left.

_They’d be back_, he told himself, changing the channel to watch something else. _They always came back. _

They had come back as his tutors Mr. Harrison and Mr. Cortese, and then later as the awful magician and the waiter for his birthday.

He held onto the fact that they cycled through different disguises just so they could keep watch over him even when he outgrew his need for them because they wanted to be with him so much that they’d wear whatever face it took to do so.

It was the most comforting idea he had.

One that had yet to be disproven.

There was a knock on his bedroom door and he looked up, expecting to see his mother, but found the pleasant surprise of seeing his father there instead.

“I thought you had a meeting,” Warlock said, knowing he must have looked as astonished as he felt.

“I did, and it was a rather quick one. Thankfully, it went well,” Thaddeus Dowling said. “Warlock, we’re going back to America.”

Warlock was eleven and he could only think about how exciting that was, and didn’t for a second ponder until much, much later that if he was in America, he wouldn’t be able to see Nanny or Brother Francis anymore.

“Really? America?”

“Yes, boy.” His father had beamed. “America.”

Down the line, Warlock would briefly entertain the thought that maybe he was the one that truly left when he started living life in America, then dismiss the thought immediately.

Somewhere, deep down, he knew that there would be nothing Nanny and Brother Francis couldn’t do if they put their minds to it. If they wanted to find him, they would.

They weren’t like other adults, if you paid close attention.

Brother Francis, and his blooming garden. One that he never even lifted a finger to tend to. The creatures that would flock to him as he sipped tea by the shrubs, all beautiful, all loving, all unlike anything else. The serenity of him, how he respected even the fallen fruit, telling Warlock that just because there were those that fall when they’re not supposed to, it did not mean that they were any less worth loving.

Nanny, and her strange otherworldliness. One that ensured Warlock would not come to harm. Protected him. For he would be the Destroyer, not the Destroyed. She claimed it nightly, told him stories where evil triumphed. No illness could contest her for long, and neither injury nor nightmare could overwhelm her deep, soothing voice. She tended to him ever so carefully.

He had believed in them.

Believed they would find him, and they’d be donning another kind of outfit, he even wondered what they’d show up as next. He wanted Nanny to be a security guard and Mr. Francis to be a librarian, because he thought they would look very cool in those roles, indeed.

Or even if Francis wanted to be a chef and Nanny wanted to be a chauffeur, he would be okay with that too. Or, anything, really, anything as long as they were with him.

He didn’t mind, wasn’t going to be picky as long as they could be together. He believed that they would be, would keep coming back until they got the right combination — the one that would let them stay.

Any combination.

He would have accepted them as anything they wanted to be. It was true, they had taught him everything and most of all, they had taught him that people don’t ever truly leave for good. He held onto that, put faith in that, couldn’t let go of that.

He was a child and they had always come back for him.

For years, he didn’t know how to deal with the fact that they didn’t.

* * *

“My dear,” Aziraphale began, hands folding in his lap. “It seems that the grand scheme of things had us all a bit frazzled. But don’t think for a second that we ever forgot about you.”

They were all sitting in Adam’s room, Warlock curled up on top of his bed, back to the wall and cradling his knees to his chest.

It didn’t feel like the right place to have this conversation but Adam had insisted, claiming he needed to get Dog used to the place and that there was no use reconciling in the open, where everyone could stick their noses into things that weren’t theirs to stick their noses into.

So, here they were, Aziraphale and Crowley sitting with tight expressions on the couch opposite Warlock, and Adam stayed crouched in the corner, holding onto his dog.

He tried to focus on Adam’s conspiracy theory posters instead of looking at anyone, but Aziraphale spoke up again.

“I just hope that you know,” he said. “There has not been a moment where I, at least, stopped loving you. I don’t think I would know how to.”

“You love everyone, Brother Francis,” Warlock mentioned sullenly. “Every living thing.”

“Ah, yes, well,” Aziraphale made frantic gestures with his hands. “You were… special. To me, and to her as well,” he nodded towards Crowley, who nodded back.

Aziraphale nodded in return again, and turned to look at Warlock, expression just as painfully earnest as he remembered.

“We thought of ourselves as sort of your… godfathers, in a sense. And believe me, we’ve never been anybody’s godfathers before, and quite probably never will be again.”

“We really did care,” Crowley added.

Despite the glasses guarding most of his expression, it seemed like he was trying to sound as sincere as he could manage. It didn’t come as easily as it had for Aziraphale, but that was just how Warlock remembered as well.

“I don’t know how to tell you that we did, but we did. We raised you, you know. Never raised anything before you.” Nanny’s tone of voice came naturally afterwards. Stricken, almost, to confess, “But darling. There was a… great plan.”

“And I take it,” Warlock said slowly. Succinctly. “That it was greater than being with me?”

“It was ineffable, young master Warlock,” Aziraphale told him, using the old moniker that was far too familiar for Warlock to stay mad at. He wondered if he was even mad to begin with.

He felt betrayed, of course, but he also felt as though there was nothing he could do.

Not then, not now, not going forward.

It felt as though everything had happened for a reason.

“It was ineffable,” Crowley echoed.

“An ineffable plan,” Adam also reiterated, finally wanting to make himself known again. He had been petting Dog absentmindedly, who barked softly when he paused. He continued petting him. “One that could’ve gone very wrong, in fact. Like nothin’ you’ve ever seen before. ‘Cept maybe in a dream. You might’ve dreamt somethin’ like it.”

“Not even I could have dreamt something like it,” Aziraphale said mildly as he shifted his position on the couch. “And _I _collect books on prophecy.”

“Aight,” Adam nodded. “Point made.”

Warlock, who by this point was only barely following the conversation, decided to address the only discernible topic that concerned him, great or ineffable plan be damned.

“You don’t think I was worth telling?”

“We _couldn’t_,” Nanny — Crowley — stated, expression sombre. “Right piece of work, that blasted plan. Could hardly know what to tell ourselves, let alone anyone else.”

“So you just left?”

“Well.” Crowley said, bony fingers gesturing vaguely up at the ceiling. “We had to.”

Brother — Aziraphale — nodded, expression tight.

“What else could we have done, laddie? Taken you with us? You have a family.”

“My parents wouldn’t have missed me,” Warlock muttered.

“Dear child!” Aziraphale gasped, hand cupping over his collar as though he were clutching pearls, sounding utterly scandalised. “That’s not true. Your parents love you very much and would have missed you terribly.”

“No, they don’t.”

“Yes, they do.” Aziraphale said rather decisively and rather more strictly than he had been as a gardener, tutor and magician. “But that isn’t the point. The point is that we couldn’t have— have _kidnapped _you. You have a family, and you were safest with them. Can you understand that?”

“I wanted to be with you, though.”

“Warlock… Warlock, I am so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know,” he repeated. “You didn’t _know_? Is that the best excuse you have? You didn’t know?”

“Hey, now,” Adam spoke up, sensing the spike in tension. “Calm down, alright?”

“You stay out of this,” Warlock snapped, and for once, Adam didn’t object. He let Dog crawl into his lap and held him close.

Calmly, he kept watch.

“You didn’t know how much I cared?” Warlock asked, much less sharply than before. “Of course I— of course I cared.”

“And so did we,” Crowley said eventually. Sighing, as he slouched further in his seat, looking like he wanted the couch to swallow him whole. “Way more than we should have, mind you. We cared, and wanted you to be able to live better than what we could give and if it didn’t turn out that way, then, terrific. Another thing to have messed up. Just _great_ stuff. Bet the guys down there are proud of me for that one.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Look,” he went on, gesturing rather helplessly to Warlock. “We can’t rewind time to give you a normal childhood. S’impossible. We messed up.”

Aziraphale nodded solemnly. “We are so sorry, Warlock. For everything. We… would’ve taken you to the ends of the earth if we could have, but that was not our decision to make.”

Quietly, Adam got to his feet and sat on the bed beside Warlock, dog still in his lap. He looked as though he was processing everything, understanding more than what Warlock himself could comprehend, so Warlock didn’t do much more than shuffle aside to give him space.

Feeling the enormity of the sorrow that Aziraphale and Crowley both exuded, perhaps entirely unknowingly, Warlock thought about how strange it was that he had never seen the world for much beyond himself and now that his perceptions were beginning to uproot themselves, he was really feeling something like reinvention.

He did not know what else to think, or even say, or even do, but he knew he was not going to linger in a past that had only brought him distress and anger. A burning rage beneath the surface, birthed by grief.

“So where did you go?” Warlock asked, voice small.

He didn’t know if he wanted a response, but all he could do to stop from overflowing was grasp at something. Anything.

Aziraphale and Crowley shared a look.

They had a habit of doing so, he noted fondly. They were always so inexplicably entwined, so intricately woven together that they reflected in each other’s eyes differently than they would anywhere else.

Softly, Aziraphale said, “To find Adam.”

Warlock looked at Adam. Adam looked back.

“It was ineffable,” Adam told him simply, as if that explained everything. “But if I had known you earlier, I think I would’ve wanted you to be there, too.”

That wish — that impossible, unbearable wish — almost broke him.

“Be _where_?” Warlock demanded. Less so at Adam, he started looking around, eyes stinging and nose starting to feel sniffly he tried to swallow the ugly feeling bubbling on his throat. “Where were you when I needed someone? When— when I had to leave everything I knew to come here? Where people don’t— where I don’t—”

“Breathe,” Adam reminded him.

Warlock did. He took a long, shaky breath of air. He had learned to get over people leaving, he had thought it was an art that he had mastered, but now he was left wondering if maybe he never got over it after all and had simply swallowed his own heart and stopped caring for a life where he was loved enough to knock the wind out of him.

A life where he had been lovable.

“_Where were you_?” Warlock asked.

Crowley, for all Nanny’s sternness that held fast to the sharpness of his cheekbones, suddenly came to look rather distraught.

“Warlock,” Nanny uttered weakly.

There was heartbreak in his nanny’s voice, Warlock could tell, but his face was starting to flush with frustration and embarrassment – _God_, he was being such a child, such an irreverent brat throwing a tantrum after so many years.

He was too old for that.

Nanny used to always tell him to give people hell, and Warlock had stuck fast to it. Learned early on that the real diabolical act lied in actively causing trouble; not only crying about it.

Still, there was nothing more he wanted to do at this moment but cry.

_“Where were you?”_ He pleaded this time. Desperately.

Adam reached out in a placating manner, hand meeting Warlock’s shoulder only for it to be shrugged off like it had burned him.

“I loved you,” he told Aziraphale and Crowley — Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth — in a sincere, helpless tone. “I wanted us to be together forever. Now, I don’t even know who you are and forever is such a stupid word and you don’t understand how many times I just wanted you back, I just wanted someone who acted like they cared even if they didn’t, someone who acted like I actually mattered, I—”

“Warlock.”

Crowley stood up.

For a moment, everything was silent.

“Warlock. Come here.”

Then, Warlock stepped forward.

* * *

He had always felt safe in Nanny’s arms, and this was no exception.

It had been years but his body remembered, yearned for it like a child yearned for its mother’s touch — he starved for it, because his mother may have known how to hold him but she wasn’t there when he had been sick and hurt and needed someone to be there to take care of him.

She had always left it to someone else.

Always left it to Nanny.

“I missed you, dear,” Nanny told him. She sounded so familiar, and it was as though all their years apart ceased to exist.

If he blinked, he might have seen her curls return, the dark of her lipstick and her tweed suit return, but even like this — even like this, more angular and casually dressed, she was still his nanny.

“I missed you so much,” Warlock whispered, relenting to his child heart, crying into her embrace.

He knew what it must have looked like, knew he was shattering like the very expensive vases he used to push onto the floor so that his new caretakers would get upset and he’d give them hell.

Just like Nanny Ashtoreth had taught him.

He knew, but he didn’t care. He had spent years pretending it didn’t matter to him, and he would let himself be unglamorous, he would let himself be emotional because this was what he took for granted. What he didn’t know was so important to him until it was taken away.

“Let’s make up for lost time,” Nanny Crowley said, ruffling his hair. “How does that sound? You, me, Aziraphale. All three of us. Run away every couple of weekends or so. Adam can come if he wants. I still have some dastardly things to teach you, darling. Some real nasty bad stuff.”

“You do?”

“Oh, yeah. _Real_ baddy bads. Worst you’ll ever know.”

“I love dastardly things and nasty bad stuff,” Warlock laughed shakily, grip still wringing tight in Nanny’s shirt. “I’d love that. _Please. _I’d love that.”

“Warlock,” Crowley said. “I just want you to know that I wanted to come back. I did. I didn’t let you go because I wanted to.”

“Okay,” he replied. “And I just want you to know that it wasn’t okay, but you can still make it up to me if you stay.”

“You and Adam both use your nasty little hands to wring me dry. I’m not a nice enough person for this, you know,” Crowley sighed, but despite the aggravated expression, there was no malice in his tone.

“Oh, don’t say that, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “But even if he does insist on being not very nice, I’m sure this can be arranged.”

“Are you gonna join the hug?” Warlock asked, sleeves wiping up the last of his tears. It was like a flash flood had possessed him, but he felt eons better now. Hope, at the very least, had rediscovered him and was making a home in him again.

Aziraphale looked perplexed for a moment before he approached them and tentatively wrapped his arms around Warlock and Crowley both, squeezing perhaps a little too tight.

Crowley squawked. Warlock squeaked.

He eased up quickly, looking apologetic. He was soft.

Over Aziraphale’s shoulder, he could see Adam smiling at them, Dog sleeping soundly in his lap.

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Adam told him later after the two had gone off to explore the neighbourhood, gently tucking Warlock’s hair behind his ear and slotting his discarded sunglasses back onto his face. “That they chose me, I mean. I know how much they mean to you now and… well, they had to. I can’t really explain why, but they had to.”

“Thanks, but I think that’s enough of that for today.” Warlock mumbled, face abnormally warm. He could only blame Adam for it. It had been a long time since someone fussed over him like that and he was still reeling from earlier.

“Alright. Fair call.”

“How do you know them, anyway?”

Adam shrugged, looking slightly sheepish. “I don’t really remember the details. Y’ever meet random people and suddenly they’re like, a huge part of your life and you haven’t the slightest clue how that happened? That’s them for me.”

He laughed, voice light. “So they’re not like your parents or something?”

“No,” Adam blanched. “Golly, no. Don’t have anythin’ against ‘em but they ain’t my parents, that’s for sure. My parents are way cooler.”

“Listen, about your parents…” Warlock’s curiosity managed to get the better of him. “They love you, don’t they?”

“Oh, yes, very much. My family is close. They’re important to me.” Adam admitted, leaning back on his hands. The affection in his voice was unmistakable. He looked as though he’d never loved anything more. “And I love them very much, as well. I have a good home, you know. Lower Tadfield. Lots of green. England, you’ve been there, right?

“Yeah. I was born there.”

“You were? What, in England?”

“No,” he smiled and his glasses slid far enough for him to look Adam directly in the eye as he said, “in Tadfield.”

“Jeebus.” Adam whistled. “Small world. Weird that I didn’t meet you earlier.”

“Maybe you weren’t meant to.”

“Prob’ly true. Would’ve corrupted you too much. I know the look of you. Reckon you were the sweetest kid, I do. I was a rascal. Total rapscallion. You’re too sweet for me.”

“Oh, shove it.”

“Well, I don’t see you denying it.”

“I was an okay kid,” Warlock frowned as Adam reached over to pat him on the head. “But I will not hesitate to hurt you if you do that again. That’s just patronising.”

“Message received loud and clear.”

“You know, my parents,” Warlock said rather suddenly, pulling the conversation back, “They love me, but they don’t always act like it. I don’t think they know how to be parents and I don’t think I blame them anymore.”

Adam seemed unfazed. Rolling on with, “Not everyone knows how to be what they are, that’s true.”

“Not everyone chooses to be what they are, either.”

“Yes, that’s also true,” Adam agreed. “But it all turns out alright in the end, I think. It’s gotta. You don’t have a choice but to make it happen.”

“I guess so.”

They steeped in quiet for a while, not uncomfortably, until Adam spoke up again.

“So why weren’t your parents winning Parent of the Year awards, anyway?”

“They shut me up with toys and video games and then wondered why I didn’t want to open up to them. That was the main thing.”

“Huh,” Adam said. “That’s why you’re so good at ‘em? ‘Cause you played heaps as a kid?”

Warlock smiled wryly. “That’s just an excuse, isn’t it? You just don’t want to admit I’m better than you. I’m a natural gamer.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Lame.”

He pushed against his shoulder. “You’re lame.”

“Take that back.”

“I won’t. You suck.”

“_You _suck.”

“Take that back.”

“I won’t.” Adam laughed brightly. “You’re such a treasure.”

“I dunno about that.”

“It’s a real shame, I reckon,” Adam said. “That people don’t know a good thing when they see it.”

“What do you mean by good thing?”

Adam blinked. His expression seemed to harden, then twist in confusion, then resignation, and he smiled, hand cupping over it as thought he was trying to stop himself from laughing out loud again.

“You,” Adam told him, grinning behind his hand. “You’re the good thing, Warlock. No takebacks. I’m always right. You. You. You.”

* * *

Warlock knew Adam wasn’t a shy guy.

That only made it all the more satisfying when he took Adam’s hand and kissed it on a lazy whim, watching his face turn red, confident demeanor wavering with something a little more vulnerable and hopeful.

“Oh. Gross,” Adam said, instead of something actually romantic. “Your saliva is on my hand.”

“Deal with it,” Warlock shot back, using Adam’s palm to slap him playfully across the face. “And stop hitting yourself.”

He did it several times, until Adam swatted him away.

“How old are you?”

“Old enough for chicken nuggets, if you’re paying.”

“Are you asking me out?” Adam asked, sounding incredulous.

“I’m asking you to buy me chicken nuggets,” He smiled coyly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Adam cracked a grin at that. “_Can _I ask you out?”

“If you’re brave enough.” Warlock replied. “Then yes.”

* * *

“I can’t believe this.” Adam announced, splitting a nugget dramatically in half. He waved one piece in the air victoriously. “Warlock Dowling actually agreed to go on a date with me. The end is truly nigh.”

“Stop messing with me,” Warlock laughed. He took advantage of the momentary distraction to steal half the nugget Adam was holding, much to his indignance, popping it into his mouth before he could protest. “I feel like I’ve been hearing that ever since you walked into my life. ‘The end is nigh.’ What is it with you and the end of the world?”

“I’m the Antichrist, it’s what I do.” Adam said, rather nonchalantly.

Warlock still didn’t know if he was kidding about that, but didn’t think to ask.

Leaning in, as though sharing a secret, Adam added, “Well, it’s not actually what I do. I quite like the environment, you know. But I could have ended the world if I wanted.”

He waved him off. “Yeah, cool, you’re very scary, go buy me more fries.”

“Fear me, mortal.” Adam told him gallantly and now it definitely sounded like a joke. “I have all the power you could ever imagine, and you want me to get you _fries. _You are so entitled.”

“Time’s ticking, Antichrist, I won’t be responsible for what happens if you can’t get me the goods,” Warlock said, grinning at him.

Adam rolled his eyes, but moved to get up anyway, pulling his phone and wallet from his pockets as though he was being sent on a valiant mission.

“All the power you could ever imagine,” he declared. “And I’m bein’ sent on such a noble quest. How could I possibly refuse?”

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you,” Warlock said, yet he was unable to resist laughing at his dramatics. Then, spotting something behind Adam, he lowered his glasses and squinted into the distance. Trying for a clearer picture.

Adam quieted, all other responses dying on his tongue.

“What? What is it?”

“Don’t look now…” Warlock began slowly, cogs turning in his mind. “... but I think we’ve got company.”

Perking up, Adam looked around. Warlock immediately pulled his glasses back up and hid behind a specials menu.

“Adam! I said don’t look now!”

“It’s Crowley and Aziraphale, isn’t it,” Adam said after a long moment, turning back to face him, completely deadpan. The disbelief was practically dripping from his voice. “Like, they’re wearing funny hats but it’s definitely them, right? I’d know the look of ‘em anywhere. The whole black-and-white thing they have goin’ on always gives ‘em away.”

“Their disguises were always terrible,” Warlock sighed, still hiding behind the menu. “They’re not very subtle.”

Adam landed back in his chair, shaking his head. “Don’t they have anything better to do?”

“Beats me.”

“So what do we do now? Just ignore them?”

“I guess,” he shrugged at Adam, hoping he didn’t look too flushed as he slowly set the menu back down. “I mean honestly, this is just embarrassing.”

“Oh. Ditto,” Adam replied, not looking embarrassed at all. Being the quick thinker that he was, his bewilderment was very soon dissolving into a mischievous plot. He grinned, presenting the brilliant offer with a quick gesture of his head in their general direction. “Wanna try and swindle some fries off of them instead?”

“Adam Young, Antichrist,” Warlock said, grinning back. “You really know the way to my heart.”

**Author's Note:**

> bonus scene that didn't make the cut:
> 
> “Oh,” Warlock said. “I knew the tutors were you. And the magician,” he looked at Aziraphale, “and the waiter at my party.” He looked at Crowley. 
> 
> The two stared back at him, dumbfounded. 
> 
> “My parents didn’t notice,” he pointed out. “They didn’t seem to care as long as someone was looking after me and they didn’t have to. I just thought I was s’posed to play along. Was funny, anyway. You guys were always funny.”
> 
> “How– how did you know?” Aziraphale asked, the foreground to Crowley’s background muttering and gargling like he had something far too spicy in his throat. “Crowley, stop it. We are trying to have a civil conversation here.”
> 
> “Well, you were always together.” Warlock said, as if it was the most transparent answer he could offer them and he didn’t understand why they couldn’t see it. It felt like it, too. 
> 
> Crowley continued to make that gargling noise with his throat. 
> 
> “I guess I just thought you were married or something.”
> 
> Crowley choked.


End file.
